Child of Faerun
by Miyamoto Kenshin
Summary: Drizzt Do'Urden, after one thousand years of solitude, journeys to Middle Earth where he will train a young boy named Aragorn in the ways of the ranger.
1. Part 1: The Grey Hat, Prologue

**Child of Faerun**

**Part 1: The Grey Hat**

"_Alone again. For the first time in two hundred and eighteen years, I am alone. To be alone, without my loved ones and comrades, is a state I have grown to fear in my life. Is that not a state in which we all fear? As intelligent beings, is it not natural for us to fear that which makes us most vulnerable? Is it not instinct to fear pain, to fear suffering, to fear the unknown, to fear death and perhaps strongest of all….to fear being alone? Those years ago, when I first emerged from the black of the Underdark and stood on the side of Bruenor's mountain, I made every effort to avoid the kindness offered to me by King Bruenor and the dwarves, by Wulfgar, by Regis and…_

_I feared this day would come. I knew without a doubt, should I be honest with my feelings that I would have to bear witness to Cattibrie's mortality. Those beautiful blue eyes would dull, that shimmering red hair would gray, that soft skin would wrinkle. But my love for her would only strengthen. I knew that there would come a day when she would grow weaker and weaker, and one day she would wither away and die in my arms. This would happen, for she was human and I am drow. I was so afraid. That day did come and as I held her tiny frame in my arms, she gave me two words that I will forever cherish but at the time could not understand._

'_Thank you.'_

_But for what, subjecting her to a life of loneliness? I was away most of the time, as a ranger it is my duty to protect the people of this realm. She spent much of her life, waiting for me, a husband whom was always away. Each time I would leave, she gave me a smile and a kiss and a hope for a safe return. But each time I returned, she grew older and older, as if before my very eyes. What then? What right do I have to be thanked for wasting her life? This, I could not understand and for many years it tore at the depths of my heart, filling it with guilt beyond measure. I had wasted our time together. I had wasted her life. The woodland elves had warned against this, however selfishly I…I was a fool._

_Years passed, Wulfgar too had grown old. His son, Beornigar took up his throne and Wulfgar passed on, asleep in his bed with his wife at his side. In some ways I envy Wulfgar for that. It is a peaceful death that I will never know. Still, I felt as though my time with Wulfgar was somehow foolishly spent. Perhaps I did not journey to Icewind Dale enough and visit with him? Perhaps there was more I could have done to help him in the difficult years of his youth and in the concurrent difficult years of his adulthood? Perhaps I did not give enough. _

_When Bruenor, King of Mithril Hall took ill, I was at sea. I arrived in the hall as soon as I could, but he was already gone. The King of Mithral Hall was dead, without from me even as much as a farewell. This strong, kind, gentle dwarf who had greeted me, a drow, with such kindness was now gone from this place. The Companions of the Hall was no more. My friends, my family, were dying all around me and I was slipping deeper and deeper into the endless spiral of regret and into the ever deep well of the strongest of fears. The fear of being alone. _

_At last, long after the Orc had lay down their swords against the free peoples of Faerun. Long after the Pirates lower their sails and agreed to fly them only as Privateers for the protection of the trade routes, even after the Witch King himself fled these lands, Regis was dying. I entered his estate and found his tiny body wrapped in red satin sheets, his white hair poking out over a little smiling face._

'_Oh, it's you!' He laughed weakly. 'Come here, come here.' I walked up to Regis slowly and was shocked to see that I almost didn't recognize him. He was so very small and so very ill that he looked nothing like Regis at all, and more like a tiny doll._

'_You haven't changed at all, not here at least.' He said, putting his hand against my cheek. It was so very cold. 'But here, ah yes, here your age truly shows.' He said as he removed his hand from my cheek and placed it on my heart. 'Why is that the case?' He asked. 'I…very soon, I will be alone.' I said. 'Bah!' said Regis. 'Hold out your hands.' I did so, and in them, he placed a big thick book. It was called 'The Companions of the Hall.' 'My part is all finished!' He chuckled and grinned proudly. At that, I could not stop the tears and they flowed freely down my cheeks. Regis' smile faded and was replaced by a look of concern. 'Drizzt? What troubles you so?' He asked. 'My apologies, do not be concerned by me.' I said. 'Come dear friend, tell me. Please.' He begged. 'I wasted my time, with all of you. I should've been a better friend to you, a better brother to Wulfgar and a better son in law to Bruenor. Even worse, as Cattibrie's husband, I wasted our time together.' It was then that Regis' eyes filled with tears. 'No, no that could not be farther from the truth.' He wiped his eyes and motioned to the book. 'Please, open it…' I rubbed my hands across the smooth leather. I opened the book, its pages smelled of fresh paper and ink. 'After we retrieved the Crystal Shard and Akar Kessel was defeated, we all decided to write our experiences in here. We knew that one day, we would all leave you. But, we wanted you to know that you are never without us. Take a look.'_

_I looked down at the book, its pages filled with all that we had accomplished. From Regis, the first line read 'I lived a life of dishonesty. That is until Drizzt Do'Urden came along. He taught me that sincerity is the greatest trait one can have.' Bruenor's said 'Long was I stuck in self abiding ignorance, it took a drow of all creatures to open my eyes. Hah! A Drow! Drizzt thank you.' Wulfgar's stated 'In my life, I have experienced many shortcomings. Many times did I fall along my path, but each time, there was always a voice that said 'Stand up! Keep moving!' That voice was Drizzt Do'Urden's.' I flipped the pages to Cattibrie and breathed heavily. 'Here is the person I miss the most.' I said to Regis. 'Go on, read it.' He said. 'She's waiting.' I gasped. 'She's been waiting for a long time, for you to read her words.' I nodded and gently ran my fingers across the page, reading what she had written long ago. It read 'My head, my heart, my eyes, and my life. No, even more. All of these things are forever yours, just as you are forever mine. And someday, you will stay there, while I will have to go forward, into the next life. So many steps ahead and so far away in body but in spirit we are forever one. Though in years it may be thousands, looking back upon it and it will seem as mere moments. In that light, we will soon be together. We are as the Earth and the Moon. Though on this day, I may be sinking away from your gaze, do not fear! I am merely at your back, protecting you. And one day, just as sure as the moon returns the next night, I shall be in your gaze again. Throughout this life, throughout its joys and storms and frost of doubts, there has been one constant that has made it all bearable. It is my time with you. The warmth of your love caused the frigid cold in my heart to melt. Our time, however brief, was time well spent and forever cherished. And though my body may chill and return to the earth, do not let our love die! You must carry on! Go onward! You are blessed with long life and a gift for serving those in need! Use it, carry our beliefs, and help the people of this world just as you always have done. For this is the way of the ranger I spent my life with. This is the way of the drow whom I so deeply love. This is your way. So please, continue on! In this dead time of mine I may not be right in front of you, I may not be there in person to hold you during times of strife and make love to you in times of joy. But I will watch on proudly, as the husband I love so deeply carries onward the fruit of accomplishment that our life together has bared. I am content in all that we have accomplished in the short time we had together. I would not want it differently. Though I am southward gone, and you grow weary of the tedious day ahead, look to the moon. For one day, I shall return, and at that time I hope the moon never sinks beyond the mountains and our nights together will forever burn onward. Within my breast, I know this to be true. And soon I will be with you, my dearest. Wherever you are, whatever you must do, do it knowing I will be there to protect your back, always. Until those lavender eyes grow tired and nature finally claims you and returns you to me, I will be waiting for you. My flesh is your flesh, my bones are your bones, though I am here and you are there. We are always together, as one. For the many blessings you have given me. For this rich life, thank you' Finally, I understood the meaning behind her last words. Tears came again but this time they were of joy. 'No Drizzt.' Regis said. 'We do not regret, not at all. Your time was not wasted with any of us, and especially not with her.' I flipped to the next page. It read 'Drizzt Do'Urden' I flipped to the page after and the page after that, but nothing was written. 'These are blank.' I said. 'Well of course, those pages are for you to fill. Those are for your story, which is not finished, Not yet. Finish it Drizzt! Finish it!' Then Regis let out a long sigh and was gone._

_Alone again? Perhaps in body. But in spirit, she is here. At my side, protecting my back, and always smiling down on me in the light of the moon. So I continue forward into this new era. Without fear, without tears, and never alone."_

_-Drizzt Do'Urden_


	2. Chapter 1: One Thousand Years

Chapter One: One Thousand Years

Arathorn II moved silently through the willows. He must be quiet. He must be swift as he travels through the darkness of the White Mountains. He is the chief ranger of the Dunedain. A ranger does not falter, a ranger does not slow, nor is he clumsy in his dealings and Arathorn least of all. For he is destined to take the throne of his people, destined to bring the free peoples of Middle Earth out from Sauron's dark and ever stretching shadow. He must not fail. Faster, faster still he must make his way through the mountain pass and back safe into the land of Gondor, where his men await. Scores of Orc move all around him, his keen ranger senses giving away their position. Their booted feet pounding the ground, their growling breath piercing the air, and the shards of flesh in their teeth, the layers of sickly sweat and grime, the caked on blood from their victim and themselves, filled the night air with a distinct aroma that was both sweet and , by these things, coupled with the numerous broken twigs, upturned logs and muddy footprints left by them, Arathorn new they were all about him, and by the hundreds. Long had Sauron desired his head, for the dark lord knew that if the bloodline to the throne was extinguished, the age of man would never come, bringing him closer to his rule over Middle Earth, and closer to casting the world into an age of darkness. Arathorn stopped, a sound alerting his sharp senses, the sound of rattling armor. Not up ahead, not behind, or to the left or right. The sound was coming from all sides, all around him. This is the situation he feared most, this is how the father before him was slain, and the father before that.

"Keeeeyurrrrrrrrkkkk." The sound came, slow, soft, almost inaudible. Arathorn's eyes widened. This too was a sound he was more than familiar with. Down he went, to one knee, ducking at the last possible moment. "Fwwwwiiiissssh!" A large black arrow sailed over his head, the spurred head taking some of his long brown hair with it. "Thwunk!" The arrow plunging deep into something hidden in the willows "Glaaarg!" An Orc gurgled, it stumbled out of the willows, grabbing the arrow that was plunged deep into its spurting throat. It fell to the muddy ground, dead. Arathorn removed his long sword and his dagger from their sheaths and breathed deeply. Surely, the horde would now come, like a great wave upon the shore. He breathed slowly, in through his mouth and out through his nose. Above all things, no matter how many he must face, he must ride this wave.

The Orc charged in, swinging their swords and clubs wildly. How many were there? Arathorn could not tell. Over head went his sword and down it came, his dagger flashing side to side. Limb, head, hand and foot, the Orc collided and divided as the sky sprayed with the black blood that rained from them. One, two, six, nine, twelve, eighteen, twenty two, twenty nine, thirty four, the Orc continued to charge and continued to fall in several pieces around Arathorn's whirring blades. The future king now covered in the black liquid that once gave the Orc life. His blue eyes glaring out at those who remained standing like a demon, his gaze far more intense than any their dark lord had ever given them. "Come!" Said Arathorn "And taste firsthand the might of Gondor!" And the wave of Orc continued to crash in, for they were many. Arathorn closed his eyes, only for a moment and breathed again. In through the nose and out through the mouth. His eyes flashed open and his blackened sword and dagger spun round him once again, cleaving all who were too foolish to step into their circle of death. Thirty five, thirty eight, forty two, forty six, fifty one, fifty seven, fifty eight. Pile upon pile of Orc flesh littered the path now, blood puddling like rain. Severed fingers and ears in the willows, torn innards and skin strewn about the trees. The tide of Orc seemed endless and Arathorn grew weary. The whirring blades slowed and swung in tired heavy strokes. Still, they gashed any who came close. Down on skulls, across on stomachs and through arms and legs.

"Yes." A haorse voice growled. "That truly is the might of Gondor." The voice came from Gothmog, a cruel pink Orc who was leading the party. Gothmog stepped onto the path and raised his right hand under his jaw, twisting his head sharply from left to right, popping his neck. Then he drew his sword and grinned savagely at Arathorn.

"Arathorn, son of Arador, I am Gothmog. Know well the name of he who shall claim your head." The pink Orc sneered. "The name of an Orc means nothing to me, especially a dead one." Arathorn retorted, spitting Orc blood from his mouth. Gothmog roared with anger and charged with his sword overhead. Gothmog swung down, Arathorn blocked just as he did so. The massive's Orc's sword sparking against his blade. Arathorn clenched his teeth and put both hands on the hilt of his sword as he met the strike. Gothmog snarled and glared at Arathorn, their faces meeting eye to eye. And then it came, Gothmog slammed his forehead hard against Arathorn's face, crushing his nose and sending him reeling backward.

"Keeeyyurrrkk! Fwiiish! Thwunk!" Went the Orcish bow and arrow and then for Arathorn came a deep piercing pain in his right shoulder. The large black arrow that now stuck out from there rendered his right arm useless and it hung limply at his side. Arathorn closed his eyes and breathed once more, in through the nose and out through the mouth. His wife, Gilraen and his two year old boy, Aragorn, appeared before his eyes. Arathorn's eyes flashed open and he took the sword in his left hand and charged Gothmog with a mighty roar. Gothmog laughed and stood in wait. Arathorn's sword came down, cleaving Gothmog's blade. "Thwunk! Thwunk! Thwunk!" Three more arrows in his back and Arathorn fell to his knees.

"Grrrawww!!" Gothmog hissed angrily and stomped toward Arathorn. With one massive boot, he pushed Arathorn on his back, onto the arrows and then pressed his boot down until Arathorn's back was against the ground. The four arrows popping through his tunic, chain mail, the skin of his back, his ribs and shoulder blade, his right lung and innards, the skin of his chest, back through mail and tunic and out through the top until the bloody arrow heads and nearly three feet of dark shaft stuck out around Gothmog's foot. "Gwah!" Arathorn coughed blood. Gothmog grinned. "Well, the might of Gondor, heh heh…heh heh HAH HAH HAH HAHHH!!!" Gothmog howled with delight. "So this is the Cheiftan of the Dunedain's true self? Whimpering on the floor like a lice ridden brat!! Ha ha!" Arathorn grabbed Gothmog by the collar and spat in his face. Gothmog lifted one huge pink fist and smashed it into Arathorn's already broken face. "I was going to give you a swift death, but now, let's see how mighty you are when I give you more pain then you've ever known. You will beg for death before the end!" Gothmog's voice went to a high, almost giddy pitch and reached for the bottle of torch oil on his belt. Gothmog uncorked the bottle then lit a bit of stick and leaned in toward Arathorn, grinning his sticky mouth widely. Arathorn reached for his dagger and threw it at Gothmog's left hand, the hand holding the bottle of torch oil. The bottle shattered and the oil sprayed all over Gothmog's right arm and right side of his face. The burning stick ignited the oil and Gothmog roared, covering his face with his arms and wailing as he ran into the willows. More Orc appeared and angrily rushed to Arathorn. They plunged his swords into him over and over and Arathorn grew weak, thinking only of his wife and son who slept peacefully just on the other side of the White Mountains.

* * * * * * * *

Gandalf the Grey took easy long strides through the gates of Minas Tirith and down the winding staircase of the citadel and into the dank musty library that lay below its white walls. Concern rested heavily in his mind. Arathorn, Son of Arador, Chieftan of the Dunedain and heir to the throne of Gondor had been slain by Orc just days previous in the very mountains that rested at the great white city's back. Aside from the fact that this slaughter occurred on Gondor's doorstep, there were other aspects of the matter that required the old wizard's immediate attention. The Dunedain were without their Cheiftan and the next in line was Aragorn, Arathorn's two year old son. Now that his father was gone, there was no one in all Middle Earth with the knowledge and experience necessary to prepare Aragorn for what was to come. To train him so that he might become Chieftan himself and so that one day, hopefully, he might be skilled and clever enough to not befall the same fate as his forefathers. That Gondor might once again have its King. Such a mentor would have to be of exceptional skill and knowledge, but who? Day and night, burning through many candles and without a moment of sleep, Gandalf poured over the shelves upon shelves of ancient records that the city held. It wasn't until the ninth day of doing so that he came across a very old and curious book. Its language was a mystery to him, but upon closer inspection he discovered that it was very similar to the ancient Black Speech of Mordor. Gandalf poured over the pages, amazed at what he read…

* * * * * * * *

When the beast came, few were prepared. It rampaged across the land, destroying and devouring all. It crushed stone and splintered wood. It tore man and elf, halfling and dwarf into nothingness. None knew where it had come from, or what purpose it had. Some believed it was created by the gods, sent to punish mortals for their foolish ways. Others whispered of a dark terror in the east, who had unleashed it for destruction. Others thought it fell from the sky and now away from the stars it called home, had gone mad. It was feared by all, a frightening and terrible legend come to life. It tore throughout all of Faerun, destroying the lands greatest civilizations on by one. In Calimport, no thief nor arrow nor blade could be its bane. In Silvery Moon, no wizard could cast a spell or incantation to pierce its hide. Even demon and angelic kind had little effect. When it arrived in Waterdeep, the people scrambled this way and that while the huge beast tromped about the harbor and the shore, the gigantic waves sending the fishing and trade boats about like tiny bath toys. Then the creature's devastating roar exploded from deep within its throat and across the harbor with enough force to shatter glass and eardrums. This being was most feared in all the realm and it had not been awoken from its deep underground slumber for over three thousand years. The beast roared again, pulling its fifty foot tall, seventy foot long frame out of the water. It was known far and wide as the Tarrasque. It roared once more, its cry devastating all in its sight, knocking townspeople to the ground and making them deaf for life. The creature grabbed one of the boats and devoured it in seconds, leaving nothing but splintered wood and bloodied waters in its wake. The beast charged across the coastline, eating and smashing all in its path. It rampaged toward the city and just as it reached its gates, a single figure stood in its path, drawing his twin scimitars so quickly, they seemed to magically appear in his hands. He breathed deeply, for he had been tracking and fighting the beast for many days now, but to no avail.

"We're saved! It's him! The drow of legend! Drizzt Do'Urden!" A townsman cried out. The Tarrasque roared once again, the townsman shrieked as blood burst from his ears and he fell to the floor. Drizzt, however was not affected, for he had plugged his pointed ears with bits of fabric. Down came the Tarrasque's huge clawed hand, with one hundred and thirty tons of force behind it. Up went Drizzt, the agile drow continued to run, up the creature's arm, dragging his scimitars in its flesh as he did so then leaped down again to its left side. Surely, this attack would leave the great best wounded, but with no success. The scimitars, one found in the lair of the great dragon Icingdeath and named after the creature who rested there and the other, Twinkle, forged with magic and given to him by Lady Alustriel of Silvery Moon had absolutely no effect on the monster. Drizzt breathed in heavily, frustrated at this new development. Across came the creature's tale and Drizzt tumbled quickly to the side, sprinting under the giant lizard's belly. Left and right so fast he was but a blur to the naked eye, Drizzt dodged its claws and slashed at them as he went. Still nothing, no change and the drow noticed that his enchanted blades seemed to have less of a luster than before. The beast was dulling his blades each time he struck it.

'Something else, perhaps?' Drizzt thought, but what? Since the beast's arrival, missile after missile had been cast upon it. Its hard outer shell seemed to bounce all magical attacks off as if they were pebbles thrown by a toddler. In fact, the onslaught only seemed to further enrage the best, making it stronger still. What? What can possibly stop this thing? Drizzt shook wisps of his shock white hair out of his eyes in bewilderment. At that same moment, the beast slammed its fists down to where Drizzt was standing, pulverizing everything that was once there and leaving a deep hole in the earth. Ever was the drow light on his feet and he leaped up at that moment and onto the beast's back, out came his scimitars in a flash and down, piercing both of the terrible lizard's eyes. The Tarrasque howled so horribly that stone itself seemed to crumble. Off it's back leapt Drizzt, but he did not stop there. Three hops, up, to the side and up, and he was hanging from its belly, his scimitars stuck deep in the creature. With three swift slashes, Drizzt loosened the blades and slashed them forward, opening up its stomach like a huge zipper, blood gushed out, melting part of the drow's leather armor. Drizzt dashed from under the beast and waited for it to fall, breathing hard and resting on one knee. But fall, it did not. The creature lurched forward and then back, in some sort of odd dance. Then the blood lifted up and off the ground and back into the creature. Its eyes seemed to re-inflate and it blinked at Drizzt angrily. The creature had somehow, someway, healed itself. "No. That's impossible." Drizzt muttered under his breath. The creature snarled and was upon him, much faster now then ever before. It caught him by his cloak and swung him through the air with enough force to snap bone, but Drizzt braced the onslaught by hooking his scimitars around one of the massive spikes on the creature's forearm and slingshotted around it then tumbled to a stop far to the beast's right side. Again, the beast was there, almost as soon as Drizzt hit the ground and this time it caught him in its powerful hand. Drizzt could sense Gwuenwhyvar, his magical panther companion attempt to escape the small black statue in the pouch at his belt and come to his aid. "No Gwen." Drizzt said between grunts, "not yet." It was all Drizzt could do but keep his blades drawn and across his chest, preventing the Tarrasque from wrenching him to death in its grasp. The lizard lifted Drizzt to its huge maw, lined with rows and rows and rows of two foot long teeth. Drizzt pulled one scimitar up with his right arm and then thrust the other down with his right, slicing the creatures hand and loosing himself from its grasp. At that moment, Drizzt put away Twinkle and reached into the pouch, grabbing the onyx panther figurine. "Now Gwuenwhyvar!" Drizzt said and threw the figurine into the beast's mouth and down its throat. Drizzt rolled back and away and the great black panther came out from the figurine in a mist, forming deep inside the Tarrasque's throat. Gwuenwhyvar roared and understood what she must do. Clawing and raking, she dug deep into the beast ignoring the acidic blood that sprayed on her and burned into her flesh. The Tarrasque gagged and clawed at its mouth. But the panther continued, to the left of the throat and through the lung, until she had reached the terrible creature's beating heart. Nothing more than muscle and bone now, Gweunwhyvar continued, raking the Tarrasque's heart with her back and front claws and tearing into it with her fangs. But the acid was too much for her, and the great black panther faded into mist, returning to the Astral Plane and taking the Tarrasque's heart with her. The great beast fell forward and Drizzt stood and turned to back away from the beast. The Tarrasque's great hand shot forward and enveloped Drizzt in its closed fist. The terrible creature fell, crashing to the ground so loud that all throughout the land heard it. Finally, the terrible lizard was slain and it turned to stone, trapping Drizzt Do'Urden in its great clawed hand.

* * * * * * *

Gandalf muttered in disbelief and packed his long wooden pipe with some Old Toby, the finest weed in all Middle Earth. The old wizard stroked his great grey beard and flipped back to the pages of the first entry. It read "Station. In all the world of the drow, there is no more important a word. It is the calling of their -of our- religion, the incessant pulling of hungering heart strings. Ambition overrides good sense and compassion is thrown away in its face, all in the name of Llolth, the Spider Queen. Ascension to power in the drow society is a simple process of assassination. The Spider Queen is a deity of chaos, and she and her high priestesses, the true rulers of the drow world, do not look with ill favor upon ambitious individuals wielding poisonous daggers.

Of course, there are rules of behavior, every society must boast of these. To openly commit murder or wage war invites the pretense of justice, and penalties exacted in the name of drow justice are merciless. To stick a dagger in the back of a rival during the chaos of a larger battle or in the quiet shadows of an alley, however, are quite acceptable- even applauded. Investigation is not the forte of drow justice. No one cares enough to bother.

Station is the way of Llolth, the ambition she bestows to further chaos, to keep her drow "children" along their appointed course of self-imprisonment. Children? Pawns, more likely, dancing dolls for the Spider Queen, puppets on the imperceptible but impervious strands of her web. All climb the Spider Queen's ladders; all hunt for her pleasure; and all fall to the hunters of her pleasure.

Station is the paradox of the world of my people, the limitation of our power within the hunger for power. It is gained through treachery and invites treachery against those who gain it. Those most powerful in Menzoberranzan spend their days watching over their shoulders, defending against the daggers that would come at their backs, their deaths usually come from the front. I have abandoned this world, this façade of 'station' and now, I choose to turn to the light."

-Drizzt Do'Urden.

Gandalf read onward, his eyes soaking in all of the trials and tribulations of Drizzt's life in the Underdark and in Faerun. He read of how Drizzt escaped his people and how he made it to the surface. Of how he met Montolio DeBrouchee, who taught him the ways of the ranger. Of how Drizzt befriended the great Dwarven King, Bruenor Battlehammer and fell in love with his adopted human daughter, Catti-Brie. Of how Drizzt came to be part of The Companions of The Hall, along with Bruenor, Wulfgar the barbarian, Catti-Brie and Regis, the Halfling. How they defeated many great enemies, including Crenshinibon a chrystal shard capable of corrupting even the strongest of will, of the demon Errtu, of Matron Baenre, the head of the drow of Menzoberranzan, of the dragons Shimmergloom and Icingdeath, of the thousand orc and the Orcan king Obould and his allies of trolls and giants, of the Pirates of the Sword Coast and the Ghost King and so on and so forth, all the way up to the great slaying of the Terrasque.

"Drizzt Do'Urden." Gandalf mumbled. "A drow ranger…" Gandalf chuckled at the thought. Dark elves had not lived in the lands of Middle Earth since the first age, before Sauron had them all mutilated and deformed. This drow, should he still live, would be Aragorn's master. He would foster and raise the boy as his own, and provide a way for the return of the king.

It had now been little over a month, and Gandalf the Grey packed his bags to set off for the great and long journey ahead. Since he had left Valinor, he had not once left Middle Earth. However, in this case, it was a necessity for the very future of the realm he had been sent to protect. In the fields of Pellenor, Gandalf whistled. A high long wavering whistle, followed by a low sing song one. Then in the distance, ran a glorious white steed.

Shadowfax, lord of all horses whinnied with glee, for it had been quite some time since he had visited with his dear friend, Gandalf. "How are you, friend?" Gandalf asked the stallion and patted his shimmering white main. "We must journey far today, to the northern coast. We must make haste!" Gandalf proclaimed as he got onto Shadowfax's back. "For the path has been found!" Shadowfax whinnied again with excitement, rearing up on his hind legs, excited to aid his friend Gandalf, excited to protect his land and all horses within it, to protect Middle Earth. Off they went, in a white flash, as fast as the Nazgul flies, up through the lost realm of Arnor, over the Blue Mountains and into the gulf of Lhun.

When they arrived at Forlindon, Gandalf bade farewell to Shadowfax. A small grey moth flittered about and landed on the old wizard's pointed hat. Gandalf caught the moth in his hand, gently, and whispered to it, then let it go. Seconds later, a Great Eagle soared over head and circled, then swooped down and lowered its head. The grey wizard climbed onto its back and set off into the sun, over the great sea of Belegaer and flew for more than sixty days. Far to the west, beyond the sunken isle of Numenor, where they rested. Then off and over the Trackless Sea and resting at last on the Moonshae Isles, within the realm of Faerun. It was here that Gandalf bid the Eagle farewell and went off into the town of Caer Calidyrr to speak with the Privateers of the Moonshaes.

* * * * * * *

The mercenary sat in the Cyclops Tavern with his booted feet on the table and his chair rocked back, his huge feather plumed hat pulled down over his eyes and his hands tucked behind his head. Content in his fifteen hundred odd years of age, the drow grinned. He was the last of his kind, now a well to do lord in the world of Faerun, nothing could get in his way. The inn was one of many he had opened up, all bearing the same name of Cyclops, a reference to the eye patch he often wore. A tall old wizard in a tattered grey robe and large pointy hat entered the front doors of the Cyclops Inn. The mercenary lifted an eyebrow, for his eye patch showed to him that this old man was no mere human. Indeed, not a human at all, but something far more powerful.

"How may we be of service to you, old man?" The drow asked.

Gandalf slowly walked to the mercenary. "I'm searching for someone, a drow elf."

"Indeed?' The drow chuckled and took of his plumed hat, revealing his dark elven features and rubbing his clean shaven head. "It appears you have come to the right place, sir, for I am the only one, please sit." The drow motioned to the chair next to him at the table. Gandalf took a seat and began packing his pipe with Old Toby. "I am Gandalf the Grey, a wizard from Middle Earth." "You're a Mithrandir, an ancient being sent to complete a divine task." The mercenary said bluntly. "You are quite perceptive." Gandalf replied, and I have read much of you, Jarlaxle of Menzoberranzan." Jarlaxle grinned at this, "So it is as I suspected, you are not a simple old man after all. What is it that I can help you with, Gandalf?"

Gamdalf lit the pipe, shaking the match and tucking it into his robe. He let out a long draw of grey smoke. "I am here to call upon Drizzt Do'Urden." All within the Inn stopped what they were doing at that statement and stared at Gandalf in complete silence. Jarlaxle sat up from his chair and placed his great plumed hat back on his bald head. "Come with me." He said. "For there is much to be discussed." The drow walked to a wall and simply passed through it as though a doorway was there, but none was visible, Gandalf followed and found himself in a dark room with elaborate furniture and decorations from the ancient drow culture. Jarlaxle took a piece of scrimshaw out of his pocket, it was a carved pendant depicting Drizzt and Gwuenwhyvar. "I have not heard that name in a very long time." He said softly as he stared at the pendant. "A very long time..."

"Tell me Jarlaxle, what became of him?' Gandalf asked.

"He slew the great Tarrasque, and fell within its grasp. He has forever been memorialized as the great defender of our world." The mercenary said.

"Dead?" Gandalf asked.

"That is uncertain, but likely."

"Where was the Tarrasque slain? Can you take me there?" The old wizard questioned. "In the town once called Waterdeep, now known as the Western Waste. Few travel there, calling it a forsaken land. But for Drizzt, yes, I will take you." The drow smirked.

"Thank you Jarlaxle." Gandalf bowed. "For I am in your debt." "Do not concern yourself, wizard, you have nothing with which I wish to possess."

The wizard and the drow set of with a crew of twenty aboard Jarlaxle's ship _The Entreri_ and made sail across the Sea of Swords and to the Western Waste, into the harbor of the ruins of Waterdeep.

"Not long after I came to the surface, a great poison struck my people." Jarlaxle said. "Noxious gasses from mining too far, too greedily, poured out into the cities of Menzoberranzan and killing all who dwelled there. Many centuries later, I returned to the Underdark only to find the corpses of my people missing. They had been taken, every male, female, and child." "There is a dark necromancer in my lands." Gandalf said slowly. "The Orc he breeds are not like the indigenous ones that dwell here. No, these Orc were elves once. Elves that lived deep underground." "Your task then, is to destroy him?' Jarlaxle asked. "Yes." said Gandalf. "Or at the very least, insure that he is destroyed by whatever means necessary." "I see." Jarlaxle responded.

_The Entreri _dropped anchor in the bay and Gandalf and Jarlaxle rowed to shore. Upon reaching it, Gandalf saw a great stone beast, seventy feet long and fifty feet tall, its right hand clenched tightly in a fist. All about it were the barren lands and ruined pillars of the once great city of Waterdeep. "This is the place." Said Jarlaxle. "I must leave you now, for I cannot linger in these lands."

"I am grateful for your aid." Gandalf bowed once more. Jarlaxle returned the bow and was off once again to _The Entreri_, where he waited. Gandalf ran his fingers across the great stone Tarrasque and closed his eyes. 'Now Gweunwhyvar!' He heard Drizzt say in his mind, as he replayed the battle over and over.

"Turned to stone, trapped for one thousand years." Gandalf mumbled. "Your time of slumber is over, Drizzt Do'Urden. The moment of awakening has arrived."

* * * * * * *

Drizzt tried to pry himself free as the Tarrasque's grip enveloped him. But he was too late and the fist quickly turned to stone all about him. At first, Drizzt sliced at the stone hand over and over again, creating spark after spark. When this did not work, he attempted to recollect an ancient drow spell which could turn one into a fine mist, escaping small crevices. This too, was of no avail. Then, panic came. Drizzt scraped and clawed, beating his fists and crying out in agonizing screams.

'If I cannot break free, I'll go mad!' Drizzt thought, his body trembling with fear and uncertainty. He beat at the fist again, with swords, with hands, with feet, with his head, until he worked himself to exhaustion.

"Drizzt." A familiar voice called to him. "Be still."

"Catti-Brie?" Drizzt called out.

"I am here." The voice responded.

Drizzt's lavender eyes welled with tears then flowed down his cheeks.

"I am always here, my love. Now close your eyes, and rest. Just rest"

Drizzt relaxed and slid back against one side of the fist and closed his eyes in mediation.

He opened them and found himself resting his head in Catti-Brie's lap, she was humming softly to him and running her fingers through his white hair. Drizzt looked up at Catti-Brie and brushed a strand of her fiery red hair behind her ear.

"This is a dream." Drizzt said.

"No." Catti-Brie shook her head and smiled down at him with her emerald eyes. "I told you I would wait for you, and now you have returned to me." She leaned down and kissed Drizzt's forehead. "You were so tired, weren't you?" Drizzt sat up and kissed Catti-Brie gently on the lips, tears in his eyes again. "I've missed you." He said.

"And I you." She replied, laughing. "Now, you'll have to catch me!" Catti-Brie giggled and leaped to her feet, running through the tall grasses and wild flowers. Drizzt laughed and ran after her, catching her in his arms and lifting her by the waist, only to kiss her again. They fell into the grass and rolled over, laughing and kissing each other.

"We'll be here forever, won't we?" Drizzt asked, grinning.

Catti-Brie frowned. "Only for a time, I'm afraid."

Drizzt's smile faded. "What do you mean?" He asked, picking grass out of her hair.

"There is a darkness brewing in the East, Drizzt, an unspeakable horror. Your journey has not yet ended." She whispered. "For he will need you."

"Who?" Drizzt asked.

"Only when this boy takes the throne will your path be complete and we shall meet again."

"Who?" Drizzt asked.

"Go now and return to me, just as you always do." Catti-Brie said and kissed Drizzt again.

"No, I do not wish to leave."

"But you must. I will be waiting, my love."

Light pierced into the great fist, blinding Drizzt's eyes. The stone Tarrasque crumbled and the drow ranger fell from it in a cloud of ash. He was naked, for his clothes had long disintegrated with age and he could not stand, for his muscles had not held his weight for over one thousand years. Drizzt clawed about the ground, his watery eyes blinking blindly in the light.

"Ah, so you are alive! Good!" Gandalf chuckled and took of his outer robe, draping it over Drizzt.

"Gwen- Gwenwh-" Drizzt said softly, his voice hoarse and ragged as he dug through the stone rubble, desperately searching for the figurine that held his beloved panther.

"Don't speak, just relax, you need to regain your strength." Gandalf said and lifted the drow up in his long arms, carrying him to the waves. "You've been asleep for sometime, sometime indeed." Drizzt cocked his head to the side. "Who—"

"Oh, terribly sorry! How rude of me. I am Gandalf the Grey and I am in your need." Gandalf said. A small moth fluttered about in front of them and Gandalf whispered to it, then a Great Eagle flew down to them. Gandalf lifted Drizzt onto the Eagle then climbed onto its back.

"The next great chapter of your life begins now, Drizzt Do'Urden." Gandalf said and the two of them flew off to the East on the back of the Great Eagle.


	3. Chapter 2: A Drow In Rivendell

**Chapter Two: A Drow in Rivendell**

Elrond Half-Elven stood at one of the many vined windows in his great ivory terrace, in the Elven outpost of Rivendell, nestled deep in Imladris, at the heart of Middle Earth.

"No, Gandalf, the Dark Elf cannot stay." Elrond said. "He is to take his leave when he has fully recovered and emerged from the Houses of Healing."

Gandalf closed his eyes and sighed. "Then who will raise young Aragorn?"

"I will." said Elrond.

"You will?" Gandalf stood and strode over to Elrond, standing at his side. They both looked out over Rivendell and to the many waterfalls tumbling beyond it. "You will raise him then, just as you have fostered his father Arathorn and his father Arador and his father before that Argonui, all hunted down and slain by Sauron's dark forces. That the King of Gondor might never return."

Elrond turned slowly and looked at Gandalf.

"You would suggest then that this Dark Elf, this drow, a Child of Faerun and one of The Fallen might do better?" Elrond's tone now only slightly sharp.

"I am only suggesting a different path, one that Sauron has not forseen." Gandalf said, smiling softly and resting his hand on Elrond's shoulder. "Was Rivendell not created as a refuge for those with no other place to call home, my old friend?"

"He is a servant of Llolth, a descendant of Eol, the elves who forsook the Sun." Elrond whispered.

"No, he does not serve Llolth. He has rejected the way of his people. He is a ranger and he serves Meilikki, lady of the forest." Gandalf smiled.

"And now he wanders our lands." Elrond said.

"Not all who wander are lost, Elrond Half-Elven, not all that glitters is gold. Let him raise Aragorn as his own, here in Rivendell. Let the drow teach Isildur's heir the means to survive Sauron's onslaught. This is no ordinary drow, this is Drizzt Do'Urden of Tarrasque's Bain." Gandalf nodded and patted Elrond's shoulder.

After a long pause, Elrond sighed. "Very well." He said. "He may stay here and train the boy, but my sentries will ever have their weary swords drawn and restless arrows knocked. For I cannot risk Rivendell's safety over a single drow."

"Good." Said Gandalf. "Good. In time you will know, he is no ordinary drow."

* * * * * * * *

Aragorn held his mother's hand tightly as they walked to the House of Healing in Rivendell. The little boy, now nearly three years old, had never been so far from home.

"It's alright, Aragorn, don't be afraid." His mother, Gilraen said softly and smiled down at him. "He is a friend of Gandalf's. You will be safe with him."

The pair walked to the front of the House of Healing.

"Ah, so they've arrived." Gandalf said and sat up from his seat. Drizzt stepped out from behind a changing screen, clasping the two top frogs of his new silver elven tunic. Drizzt breathed deeply and tiedd his shock white hair behind his pointed ebony ears.

"Nervous?' Gandalf asked.

"Somewhat. Yes." Drizzt said. "I was never able to have children of my own and…well, I am not certain if I am prepared for this task."

"How could you not be more prepared?" Gandalf asked.

"To slay an orcan army or send a demon back to the depths is a simple task. It only requires training and discipline. But to raise a child, that is one task by which there is no instruction, no training capable of ensuring preparedness." Drizzt sighed.

Gandalf laughed. "Right you are, Drizzt Do'Urden, right you are." Gandalf pulled aside the silken curtains that covered the doorway leading outside. "Now then, shall we, my dark friend?"

"Yes." Drizzt said, smiling.

Aragorn squinted as the sunlight lowered until it was just above the mountains. He shielded the glare by standing behind his mother. Drizzt slowly, almost timidly if ever he could appear as such, walked to the little boy and his mother.

"Well met, I am Drizzt Do'Urden of Faerun." Drizzt said, bowing to Aragorn and Gilraen.

"I am Gilraen and this is Aragorn, your acquaintance is our pleasure, Drizzt," Gilraen said. "Aragorn, say hello to Drizzt."

The little boy turned, poking his head out from behind his mother. Drizzt slowly got down to one knee.

"Hello Aragorn." Drizzt said, extending his hand.

The little boy took a small step toward Drizzt, but never let go of his mother's hand. He looked over the drow carefully, inspecting his even rows of bright white teeth, his deep lavender eyes that smiled back at him, his pitch black skin and bright white hair tied neatly back in place. Aragorn glared at Drizzt and lurched forward, clamping his little teeth hard on the drow's extended hand.

"Ouch!" Drizzt said, pulling back his hand.

"Oh Aragorn!" Gilraen said to Aragorn and turned him sharply to face her. "You do not bite!" She reached down and swatted Aragorn on the bottom, just so, not too hard but enough to show Aragorn that he was in trouble. The little boy frowned as tears welled in his eyes.

"I'm sorry. He's just a bit shy." Gilraen said.

"Not to worry." Drizzt said, blowing on his hand. He knelt before Aragorn again. "Would you like to see a trick?"

The little boy glared at Drizzt again and sniffed, wiping the tears from his eyes and his running nose with his sleeve and then nodded slowly.

Drizzt brought up his arms and cast a ring of faerie fire around the small boy. Aragorn took a step back, looking nervously at the glowing purple flames. "It's alright, they cannot hurt you." Drizzt said and caught one of the flames in his hand, rolling it over and over his palm. "You see?" Aragorn looked at Drizzt, then at the flames and grinned. "Go on, try it out." Drizzt said. The little boy squatted down on bent knees and leaned forward, putting his hands under his chin, carefully examining the flames and grinning. Then he reached out and scooped one of the flames up in his little hands.

"Yes, just like that." Drizzt said. "Today, your hands are small, just like this flame." Drizzt said, holding his own purple flame in front of Aragorn. "Though you are small, tomorrow these hands will continue to grow and the time will come for you to decide what sort of man you will become. When that time comes, do not be the sort of man that would use his power and might to crush all around him for personal gain, like the evil Sauron and those vile beings who follow him. Do not be the sort of man who runs from the great challenges and struggles in your life out of fear and selfish preservation like the nobles of Gondor, who ignore Sauron's shadow as it grows even at their very doorstep. Be a man like your father, Aragorn. Fight for all that is good and sacred in this world, with strong determination and courage, even to the very bitter end if need be. If you live your life with that goal in mind, your small hands will surely grow with strength and determination and one day…" Drizzt lifted the small purple flame before his mouth and blew on it. The flame leapt from his hand and onto a tree where it grew until all of Rivendell was lit with purple light. "Your light will shine for all to see, freeing this world from its wretched darkness, brighter even then the Sun and the Moon."

Aragorn stared in wonder at the purple light that shined so brightly in the dusk that it made it seem as mid day. Gilaen covered her mouth and gasped, moved by Drizzt's words. In her mind she saw her child as a grown man, sitting on a great silver throne on the terrace of Minas Tirith before the flowering tree of Gondor and this drow was at his side. She knew in her heart, this ranger from Faerun, this Drizzt Do'Urden was right to come to Middle Earth and train her son.

Aragorn quickly took a liking to Drizzt and Drizzt swept him up onto his shoulders and carried him down the paths, giving him a tour of Rivendell. When they returned, it was well after dark. Drizzt entered the terrace with Aragorn fast asleep on his shoulders. Drizzt gently lowered the boy into his new tiny bed. Gilaen tucked Aragorn in and kissed his forehead.

"May I still visit him?" She pleaded.

"As often as you can." Drizzt assured her. "No child should be left to grow without his mother."

Gandalf, Drizzt and Gilaen walked out from the terrace. Gilaen covered her mouth once more, her eyes spilling tears. Gandalf put his hand on her shoulder. "This is the right decision, he will be safe here."

"Yes, I know." Gilaen said and moved to Drizzt. "Thank you for bearing this task. I know under your tutelage Aragorn will grow into a strong man." She leaned in and kissed Drizzt on the cheek.

"Your thanks are welcomed, but not necessary." Drizzt humbly replied. "You are a good mother and I will honor your wishes."

She nodded and smiled, wiping the tears from her eyes. Gandalf stepped to Drizzt. "This is where our path forks, for now." He said, wrapping hands around his wooden staff. "This path is one you did not suspect, I am sure, the morning you set off to destroy that terrible lizard." The old wizard muttered.

"The path less traveled often holds the greatest mysteries." Drizzt smiled back. Gandalf nodded and turned to walk away, down the path with Gilaen, he stopped and turned back around. "This trial isnot only for Aragorn, Drizzt It is also for you." Drizzt's lavender eyes widened at this statement. "Your life has outlived much of those whom you hold dear. In raising Aragorn here in Rivendell, it is my hope that you will once again find the sense of family you have so cherished and so missed. Oh, and this is yours, I am uncertain if it can be repaired, but until then I thought you'd like to have it." Gandalf took a stone panther figurine from his sleeve and clasped it in Drizzt's hands. It was Gweunwhyvar's, but now the onyx stone was covered with grey slate from the Tarrasque and Drizzt new for certain that he could no longer summon his friend, their worlds had forever been severed. Gandalf nodded and patted the drow on the shoulder. "Until we meet again, farewell." He said, and he and Gilaen were off, down the road.

Drizzt wandered up the mountainside overlooking Rivendell. The purple lights from his faerie fire slowly faded out over the city and Drizzt rubbed the panther figurine in his hands. '_So much have I experienced, so many things to teach such a small life. Where to start? What do I say?' _he thought, then he placed the figurine in the pouch on his belt and took out some parchment and a pen and began to write.

"You're only nearing three years old, and at this stage in your life you cannot read, much less understand what I am attempting to tell you in this letter. My thoughts have centered on the life that lie ahead of you, about my life so far as what I have learned, and about my role in preparing you for the trials that you will face in the coming decades. You will not be able to understand this letter today, but someday, when you are ready, it is my wish that you will find some wisdom and value in what I have to share with you. You are young, and life has yet to take its toll on you, to throw disappointments and heartaches and struggles and loneliness and pain into your path. You have not been worn down yet by the long hours of thankless deeds, by the slings and arrows of every day life. For this, be thankful. You are at a wonderful stage of life! You have many other wonderful stages of life to come, but they are not without their costs and perils. I will be here to help you along your path, and share with you all that I have learned, always. As with any advice, please take it with a grain of salt. What has worked for me may not always work for you.

Life can be cruel.

There will be those in your life who will bring to you torment and pain. They will accost you simply for being different, or for your lineage, or for no reason at all. Some of them will even try to ruin all that you hold dear, some may even try to bring upon you physical harm. There is little that can be done about these people save for learning to deal with them. Choose friends who are kind to you, who genuinely care about you, who help you move forward in your life. When you find friends like these, hold onto them, treasure them, spend time with them, love them. There will be times when you are met with disappointment instead of success. Life will not always turn out the way you wish it. This is also another fact you must learn to deal with. Instead of allowing these things push you down, move forward. Accept disappointment and learn from it, perservere, pursue your dreams despite pitfalls. Learn to turn the negatives into positives and you will do much better in life. At some point, you will also face heartbreak and even abandonment by those you love. It is my hope that you will not have to face this too much, but it can happen. Again, there is little you can do save for heal, and move forward with your life. Let these pains serve as stepping stones to something greater, learn to use them to make you stronger.

Be open to life regardless.

Yes, you will find cruelty and suffering as you journey through life…but do not let that keep you from new experiences. Do not retreat from life, do not hide or wall yourself off. Be open to new paths, new things, new people. You may get your heart broken ten times over, a hundred times over, but find your true love on the one hundred and first time. If you shut yourself off from love, you will miss your true love, and the happiest moments of your life. You may be hurt and antagonized and mocked by the people you will meet…and after meeting a dozen evil men, find a true friend. If you close yourself off to new people, and do not open your heart to them, you will avoid pain…but also lose out on meeting some of the most incredible people, who will be there during the toughest of times of your life and create the greatest times of your life. You will fail many times, but if you allow that to stop you from trying, you will lose out on the amazing feeling of success once you reach new heights in your accomplishments. Failure is a stepping stone to success.

Life is not a competition.

You will meet many people who will try to best you. In Rivendell, within the Dunedain, even when you take the very throne of Gondor itself. They will attempt to have a faster steed, a greater hall, nicer clothing, better weapons. These foolish beings, life is a competition-they feel they must do better than their peers in order to secure happiness. I have a secret to tell you, life is most definitely not a competition. It is a precious journey. If you spend that journey always attempting to impress others, to outdo others, you are wasting your journey. Instead, learn to enjoy the journey. Make it a journey of happiness, of constant learning, of continual improvement, of love. Find your passion, and pursue it doggedly. Don't settle by merely fulfilling the station that is expected of you. Life is too short to waste on a position you hate.

Love should be your rule.

If there is a single word you should live by, it should be this: Love. It may sound lighthearted, I know. But trust in me, there is no better rule in life. Some will live by the rule of success. Their lives will be stressful, unhappy, and shallow. Others would live by the rule of selfishness-putting their needs above the needs of others. They will live lonely lives, and will also be unhappy. Still others will live by the rule of righteousness-trying to show the right path and admonishing anyone who does not live by that path. They are concerned with others, but in a negative way, and in the end will only have their own self-righteousness to live with, and that is a horrible companion. Live your life by the rule of love. Love your spouse, your children, your parents, your friends, with all of your heart. Give to them what they need, and show to them no cruelty nor disapproval nor coldness nor disappointment, but only love. Open your soul to them. Love not only your loved ones, but your neighbors, your retainers … strangers … your brothers and sisters in humanity. Offer anyone you meet a smile, a kind word, a kind gesture, a helping not only neighbors and strangers … but your enemy. The person who is cruelest to you, who has been unkind to you … love him. He is a tortured soul, and most in need of your love. And most of all, love yourself. While others may criticize you, learn not to be so hard on yourself, to think that you're ugly or dumb or unworthy of love … but to think instead that you are a wonderful human being, worthy of happiness and love … and learn to love yourself for who you are. Finally, know that I love you and always will. You are starting out on a strange, scary, daunting, but ultimately incredibly wonderful journey, and I will be there for you always.

Your Teacher, Drizzt Do'Urden

Drizzt folded up the parchement and put it away, then he sat there on the mountainside with his eyes closed, in mediation. In his mind he saw Gilaen cut down by a huge beast as black as the night, Drizzt opened his eyes quickly and moved to Elrond's terrace, for his mind was not at ease.

* * * * * * *

To the West of Rivendell, just on the other side of the river Bruinen, spanned the Trollshaws. A forsaken land, once part of the now lost Kingdom of Arnor. Once inhabitated by the Men of Rhuadar. This land was cast into ruin when the Witch-king of Agmar had was defeated, the Men of Middle Earth left those lands then and soon all manner of vile and fiendish creatures took to dwell in the crumbling castles and tipping towers of Rhuadar. Goblin, Orc, Wargs, Ogres and most of all, Trolls. These creatures now dwelled here and gave it its current name 'The Trollshaws.'

Those with the unfortunate task of taking the Western route to Rivendell had little choice but to pass through these awful lands.

Durg, was the largest and meanest of all Trolls of the Third Age. Not only was he huge and ferocious, but he was intelligent. Not a trait common among the Trolls. His cunning had earned for him what he presumed was good standing in Sauron's eye. The huge black troll had one yellow eye. The other was now a long and grotesque pink scar, pitted with a gaping black hole where his right eye once peered out savagely on all the world. He was missing his pinky and middle finger in his left hand and he carried a huge and many notched axe in each hand. He wore on his body a loin cloth and sleeveless tunic fashioned from the skin of men, elves, and even some orc should they slight him; a great trophy of his wicked dealings in the Trollshaws. About his neck he had hanging an array of skulls and rotting heads like a great necklace dangling the likeness of all races considered free in the realm. Terrible and horrifying was he and as he sat on his throne, a skeleton of a Great Eagle, a small goblin gave him some very intruiging information.

"The Rangers from the north have passed into our lands, my lord." The goblin said.

"Hmmmm…" Durg pondered, rubbing a stubby finger under his huge gristly chin. "I do not find it wise to reveal our presence to the men of the North." Said Durg. "Too rash, my tiny servant. Patience must be our strength, like a serpent in a cradle, waiting for the babe to sleep." The goblin blinked at Durg stupidly. "They travel without Isuldur's heir, but they do have his mother, Gilaen."

"Oh?" The huge troll asked. "That changes everything. Ready your battalion." The great beast grinned, picking shards of skin and hair out of his teeth.

The Rangers quietly made their way across the Bruinen. Forar, Keveat, Lother and Caolan keeping closest to their lady, for they were the four most skilled of all the Rangers, save of course, for their fallen chieftan, Arathorn. None spoke a word, uttered a whisper, or sighed a large breath. These were forsaken lands, and they new well the evil monsters and beasts that dwelled here. They took no path. Rather, they traveled lightly in twos and threes on either side of the road, single file to hide their numbers. Gilaen herself clothed as a man, her dark hood pulled over her face, was in a group of five. The only exception to splitting up into groups of twos and threes, hers was a group of five, protected by those four most skilled rangers.

Ahead, their way was blocked by several goblins. They turned quickly, making way to pass them far into the trees on the left, but that way was blocked by even three even bigger foes. Trolls. The five of them, now separated from the rest of the Rangers, had but little choice but fight of this vile army on their own.

* * * * * * * * *

"You have foreseen this?" Elrond questioned the drow. "Yes." Said Drizzt. "To the West, Gilaen and the Rangers will be attacked by a massive foe. They will not survive."

Elrond closed his eyes and rested his finger on his temple.

"I will send archers to their aid." He said.

"Send me." Drizzt replied.

"You?" Elrond said, then shook his head.

"That is something I cannot risk."

"Lend me a horse, I will carry Twinkle and Icingdeath, I will not fall!" Drizzt said.

"Sauron will know you are here!" Elrond snapped back. "He will know and wonder! That wonder will lead him to discover whos son you protect and he'll send armies to destroy him!!"

"He will not. For none will survive to tell him the tale." Drizzt said, his eyes burning.

"Drizzt, this is not your battle!" Elrond roared, so angry was he that veins were visible on his crowned forhead.

"It is!" Said Drizzt. "I will protect Aragorn!" Drizzt calmed himself, closing his eyes. "He will need his mother." He said softly. "You and I both know well, the hardship of reaching adulthood without a mother to call your own." With that statement, Elrond calmed as well. "Let me come to her aid." Drizzt spoke very softly now, barely above a whisper. "I protect him in this way."

Drizzt put on a fresh pair of leather armor, made by Elrond's sons for him and threw on his green cloak and white yeti skin mantle. He snapped his scimitars, Twinkle and Icingdeath at his sides and climbed onto the back of a tan steed with a pale mane and bowed to Elrond.

"Thank you." He said.

Elrond bowed back. "Do not be seen."

"I shall not, look for my return at dawn." Drizzt said and was off, speeding swiftly, down the winding road to the Bruinen.

* * * * * * *

Back toward the goblins ran the five. An arrow was shot, followed by a whoop and the goblins rushed in on them. The Rangers had little trouble with the goblins, easily pushing through them and scattering them. The Trolls however, were a different matter. The three ugly brutes thundered toward them, charging and roaring like angry bulls. One of them swung down their mace over Keveat's head. But Keveat rolled to the side, hacking and slashing at the Troll's thick hide with his great sword. The sword had little effect in regards to physical damage on the beast, but it served the purpose Keveat had intended for it. While he hacked and slashed, the other Trolls watched him stupidly, waiting for a chance to attack. While they did this, Gilean and the other rangers continued running, putting further distance still between them and the Trolls. The Troll that Keveat slashed at swung its huge leg up, kicking him in the chest and launching him across the glade and against a large boulder, where the Ranger lie still. The three were upon him, tearing through his cloak and armour and drawing out the tender meat inside like children poking a fork into a crab leg. They ate him, with sick slurping sounds, bones and all.

Gilaen muffled her screams and gagged down the vomit she could feel rising up from the horror of Keveat's fate. But his sacrifice could not be in vain, and so they ran on. It seemed now that they were out of harms reach for the time being. They had run for many moments and the sounds of the Goblins and Trolls could be heard no more.

Then a great wave of stench came over them, like that of a massive bubbling bog or a great open mass grave. The stench was overpowering, and as they ran, a great black hand its middle finger and pinky missing, as large as a horse, reached down and scooped up Caolon in one swift grasp. He yelped as his bones popped under Durg's mighty grasp, and the beast tossed him into his massive munching mouth. The Troll was so huge, that he blocked their only current means of escape, between to great and towering statues of the Numenor, once as a sign of hope in a great kingdom, now it may be the cause for their descendant's demise.

"Mmmmmm…." Said Drug, licking his lips and picking at his teeth with poor Caolon's snapped femur. "Where is the king's mother? Hmm?"

"Quiet, you filth!" Forar hissed as he fired an arrow, straight for Durg's good eye. Up went his axe, blocking the arrow and then down it came upon the two Rangers and Gilaen. Quick as a flash Lother pushed Gilean and Forar aside, and tumbled away as the massive axe thundered into the ground, but not without injury. For the axe's very tip grazed Forar's leg and now he stood shakingly upon ragged flesh and muscle. Behind them, the three lesser Trolls stood and now the two Rangers and the Cheiftan's widow stood trapped.

As Drizzt crossed into the Trollshaws, his horse would go no further, for it no well the dangers that marked this place. And so he set into the horrid lands on foot. He kneeled down, looking closely at five sets of human tracks, running single file but each of a different size. These were the tracks of the Rangers. To track a Ranger, be it one or many, is no easy feat. They hide their trace well and move as ghosts across the land. Undetected and unheard. But for a drow Ranger, it was not a task impossible. A small trace of heel here, a slight imprint of two there. Two and fro a slightly bent twig or a twisted leaf, small traces indeed, but traces nonetheless. More obvious traces seemed to flow all about the less than noticeable tracks. Big tramping feet, dragging heavy weapons, bits of food and hastily snapped branches and turn out shrubs. These were the tracks of goblins and bigger, of trolls. Drizzt knew he was on the path and soon he would come upon his allies, and his prey.

Drug howled with glee, swinging his axe around and around, sparking off the great statues behind him, one of them cracked ever so slightly. "Soooooooo…." He cooed. "Where is she?" He paused for a moment and breathed in deeply, sniffing the air. "Mmmmmm….I smell…I smell lavender." He said and pointed at the two Rangers and Gilaen. "That's a rather feminine scent for a Ranger." He said and yawned a great yawn. "I would guess…that one of you are in disguise." He sat down on his great haunches and propped the hilt under his chin and leaned forward, smiling at the humans with his one great yellow eye. "There really is only one way to settle this matter." He said. "Remove their cloaks." The other three trolls walked up and grabbed each of the three Dunedain's cloaks and savagely ripped them off, revealing the two Rangers in their tunics and Gilaen in her flowing white dress.

"Ah." Said Drug. "There we are. Now then, let's begin the feast!" Up went his axe, high above his head, Gilaen winced, her eyes welling with tears.

"Aragorn…" She said.

Lother and Forar looked up at the axe in wonder and awe. Lother pointed but couldn't speak.

"Oh! That's…" Forar said.

"Feast?" Drizzt asked. "The only thing dining tonight shall be my blades."

Drug looked up and there was Drizzt Do'Urden, perched on the side of the huge Troll's great axe, his two scimitars shining brightly as they wedged in the notches of the axe blade.


	4. Chapter 3: Anglachel And Anguriel

**Chapter Three: Anglachel and Anguirel**

Drizzt kept his cowl pulled fully over his face, all Durg could see were his two lavender eyes glowing angrily back at him in the moonlight. The huge Troll roared in fear, swinging his axe down and into the ground below.

"Heh heh how was that?" Durg asked, raising his axe and looking for what he thought would be a crushed Drizzt underneath.

"How was what?" Drizzt asked from atop Durg's great shoulders.

"Wha…?" Durg turned his great head and reached for his back to grab Drizzt and crush him, but the drow was faster and he leaped up onto the beast's huge leering head and down flashed Icingdeath, piercing the Troll's only usable eye. The Troll howled with pain and dropped his axe, screaming and thrashing, clawing above his head.

"My eye!!!! My eye!!! Uwaaaaaaahhhhh!" Durg shrieked, stumbling about, clawing and grasping at the air. "Damn you!!!" He reached for Drizzt. But the drow had long ran down the monster's back and now stood safely in front of Gilaen and the two rangers, his scimitars still drawn. Drizzt pushed them to one side, then ran between the thrashing beast's legs and behind him.

"Behind you." Drizzt said quietly. Durg turned and charged full speed for the drow Ranger. Drizzt darted inbetween and past the two great statues of Numenorian Kings, the statue on the left, already cracked from Durg's assault, tumbled into the statue on the right and the two stone figures crumbled to the ground, crushing the Troll under their weight with a thunderous crash. A great cloud of dust bellowed out from the tumbled statues and then settled and Drizzt landed lightly, down one knee with scimitars out at his sides, atop the dusty pile of stone. Durg whimpered for a moment or two, trying as he might to push himself out from under the statues, but with no success. His huge arms fell to the ground, and he met his fate, crushed under stone. The other three trolls stood stupidly, blinking at Drizzt and their fallen leader, completely in shock of the spectacle they witnessed before them. Drizzt stood slowly with his back turned to them.

"Heed my words." The drow said as the three lesser Trolls angrily tromped toward him. "You may crush Elves, devour Men and smother Halflings. Yes, you may do this, you may be able to strike fear in the hearts of the free People of Middle Earth, causing them to look over their shoulders as they cross these lands, however…" Drizzt wiped his blades clean on the end of his new dark green cloak and spun around to face the three beasts, his eyes still gleaming angrily in the darkness. "There is nothing, no act you can commit that will terrify a drow of the Underdark." Drizzt's cowl slid off his head, revealing his Dark Elven features. "Allow me to provide you with this, a real sense of fear." The drow rushed to the Troll, who took a couple slow steps backward, then turned to run. But the dark Ranger was upon them and he slashed at the tendons in their feet, sending them hurtling and tumbling to the ground. Before the Trolls could stand, Drizzt wasrolling, leaping and slashing, gashing and piercing into their mouths, eyes and temples. The three Trolls lay dead. Drizzt wiped the blood from his twin scimitars and replaced them to their scabbards again and let out a breath. Gilaen sighed contentedly and walked toward Drizzt, Forar and Lother stared in wonder. Forar slowly walked to Gilaen's side with his sword drawn, he overlooked Drizzt carefully.

"You are elfkind but bare the skin of an Orc."

"Indeed I am elfkind. As stated before, I am drow." The Dark Elf responded simply. He snapped a branch from a nearby bush and tore off a strip of his new cloak. "Lie down." He motioned to Lother. Lother looked at Forar and Gilaen. "Trust in him." The widow said. The wounded Ranger lied down and Drizzt went to work. First, he rolled down the top part of the Ranger's boot and cut the ragged fabric about his torn leg. The Ranger winced and moved some at the pain.

"Be still." Drizzt said and wiped the wound clean, then he stared at Lother. "There will be some pain, bite this." He handed the Ranger a short stick. "Bite down." The drow instructed and Lother did so. Drizzt put his hands above and below the Dunedain's snapped leg and closed his eyes, opened them, then with a quick jerk he set the leg so that the broken bones now rested in place. The Ranger of the North moaned with the pain, his eyes rolling back in his head. Drizzt wrapped the leg. "That should help." He said.

"So this is why Gandalf put trust in you. A Dark Elf with the heart of a Sindar." Forar said.

"We must hurry, back to Rivendell." Drizzt said softly. Gilaen let out a sharp gasp and looked down at her right breast, where a goblin arrow now stuck. Her golden hair fell about her eyes and she pitched forward, Drizzt caught her in his arms and lowered her to the ground.

"Gilaen!" Lother called out.

"Aaaaaaahhhhhhhh!!" Forar roared. Enraged, he savagely charged into the goblins, swinging his sword madly, and cleaved them all.

Drizzt closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. He clenched his fists so tight that his nails made his palms bleed and his black blood dripped to the ground.

"I have failed you." He said.

"Shhh…" Gilaen called to him and put her hand on his check. "You…have not…" She said. "I…have but one wish…"

Drizzt opened his eyes and searched her face, waiting for the wish. The drow bowed at the Dunedain widow.

"Please…love…my child…" She said and closed her eyes, and Drizzt thought her gone from this world.

* * * * * *

The dawn rose up in the land of Imladris, the spring frost melting off the blossoming trees in the courtyards of Rivendell and Drizzt Do'Urden walked up the path to the gate of the Elven outpost with two Rangers, one helping the other walk and Gilaen upon his back. Glorfindel and Elrond greeted them with a host of Elves. Glorfindel checked the widow's body. "She lives." He said. "Take her to the House of Healing, quickly." The elves took her and the two rangers, leaving Elrond and Drizzt alone.

"Come with me." Said Elrond. "There is much I wish to share with you."

Drizzt nodded and the two of them made way to the hall. In the hall there were all manner of ancient tapestries and relics, recalling the great days of Middle Earth and the great battles long since past. Narsil, the broken sword that had cleaved the One Ring from Sauron's hand, lay in its shattered rest in a great stone bowl held by the statue of a fair maiden. Drizzt stared at the ruined blade as Elrond spoke.

"Do you have any knowledge of Eol Mornedhel?" Elrond asked.

"I have not." Said Drizzt.

"He was a Dark Elf, not so unlike your self." Elrond said softly. "One of the few who traveled the lands of Beleriand. He was lord of the old forest, Nan Elmoth." Elrond walked to Drizzt and stood beside him, staring with him at the shards of Narsil.

"Friend of the Dwarves anda great smith who forged twin blades from a flaming rock that fell from the sky. They were called Anglachel, Iron of The Flaming Star and Anguriel, Iron of The Falling Sky. These blades were said to be of great power and could cleave all iron and steel delved from the earth. I see much of Eol in you, Drizzt Do'Urden." Elrond turned and cast his grey eyes upon Drizzt, the drow met them with his own lavender ones.

"When my people began to close of their realms to the rest of the world, Eol grew to both envy and hate his Elven cousins and claimed their ways as arrogant and condescending. He feared that by the Elves going into isolation and refused to give up his freedom and asked the elven King Turgon if he may take his leave. As a parting gift, he left Turgon with his sword Anglachel and so fled to the dark forest of Nan Elmoth even against the wishes of the Valar. For this, he was cursed. All manner of life was drawn from his hair and his skin was darkened to that of a moonless night. His eyes were turned too, and they now bore the bloody red color of endless death. The sun and moon were cast away from him and he abhorred all light."

Drizzt stared at his own dark hands, clutching the stone bowl that held Narsil.

"One summer's eve, Eol beheld came a gleaming white figure in his woods. This was Aredhel, the sister of Turgon, who had travelled out of Gondolin and become lost. Eöl used his enchantments to draw her deeper into the wood and ensnare her. She eventually fell in love with him and became his wife, and bore him a son, Maeglin."

"What became of this Dark Elf?" Drizzt asked. "Of Eol?"

"Many years later, Eöl travelled into the Blue Mountains to feast with the Dwarves of Nogrod, when returned he found that his wife and son had left. Mounting a horse, he gave chase, and eventually discovered them at the river ford of Brithiach. Realizing that Aredhel was returning to the elven city of Gondolin with his son, Eöl followed them. He found the secret way that led him to the gates of Gondolin itself. There he was captured and taken to the elven King Turgon." Elrond moved to a great chest that was gold, silver and onyx. Its vast shell was emblazoned with carvings of Eol himself.

"Turgon at first welcomed Eöl, but it was ancient law that any who had found the way to the Hidden City was not permitted to leave, on pain of death. Enraged at the loss of his freedom, Eöl chose death, for himself and his son, and cast a poisoned javelin at his son. Aredhel took the dart instead, and death took her. Eöl achieved the end he had sought; in punishment for his crime, the Gondolindrim cast him over the dark cliffs of the Caragdûr. Eol diead as he wished, choosing freedom over life, even if it meant betraying all that he loved." Elrond said. "A terrible end for a suffering soul. Do not fall to Eol's stubborn ways."

Drizzt looked to Elrond. "How can any who kill those they love consider themselves free? For they are slaves of their own deeds."

Elrond nodded. "When Eol fell, his last words were these:

When the stars are veiled

Shadowed in gloom

When the clouds burn

With flame and doom

When all hope is lost

And all fall to black death

Hear my blades ringing

As my son takes them in hand

And tears from this earth

The curse that darkens the land

Upon that day

Only then

Will I and mine be free

Should any others place there hands upon them

Terrible will be there fate

Cursed will their existence be"

Elrond took from the chest two long slender things wrapped in blue silk.

"All thought this a useless claim, since only moments before did Eol thrust his javelin into his only son. But a different path has been found. Anguriel was kept hidden in Gondolin until the city fell. When Anglachel was to Turgon he called it Gurthang, the Iron of Death. He gave the blade to his captain, Belig. In Belig's hands it was a terrible and fierce weapon and it sang with gladness as he cut down the Orc and other servants of Morgoth. It is also said that this blade will one day destroy Morgoth himself and even Sauron fears its presence. Twinkle and Icingdeath are tired, give them their much needed rest and instead weild these, Son of Eol!!" Elrond pulled the silken cloth from a pair of twin scimitars, their hilt and sheath shiny and black like the skin of an eel.

"Behold, Anglachel and Anguriel. Take them in hand! Use them to protect the king of men!" Elrond proclaimed, pointing the hilts at Drizzt.

Drizzt stared at the blades, beheld by their infinite wonder and beauty. Their scabbards were shining black like long slender pools of ink, their hilts also bore this countenance. The pommels were fixed with bright mithril that shined as twin moons in the dark. Drizzt pulled the blades from their scabbards, the meteorite iron ringing through the hall as he did, singing happily their song. The blades too were black as night, emblazoned on them were ancient Quenya runes. Anguriel said 'I am Anguriel, forged by Eol, freedom and strength drive me, until the very end.' On Anglachel it is said 'I am Anglachel, for a time called Gurthang, cleaver of evil, slayer of Morgoth.' Their handguards were also of shining mithril, glowing brighter than any star. Anguriel's beheld a great and beautiful Pegasus flying with wings spread, encircling the blade to make the guard. Anglachel beheld a great and terrible dragon with flame erupting. It too encircled the blade to make the guard.

'_At last.' _ Anglachel whispered in Drizzt's mind. _'Here is where we belong.'_

'_Yes.' _Anguriel said. _'Well met, Drizzt Do'Urden. We have missed you.'_

"They speak…in my mind. This is not unlike an evil sword I once knew, called Kazhid Hea." Drizzt said.

"Yes." Elrond said. "However evil, these are not. When placed in the proper hands, these blades shall be as a herald throughout all Middle Earth bringing hope and courage to those who have none."

"Elrond." Drizzt said. "Thank you."

The drow removed Twinkle and Icingdeath from his belt and held them in front of him for a moment. These blades, which had given him so much, the last reminders of Faerun. The last two things he owned from a life he had left behind. The last two things from home.

"Twinkle and Icingdeath." Drizzt said. "You have both served me so well. Thank you. Do not concern yourselves with our parting, for you both are far over due for a much needed rest. Rest here now, in this great hall with all other marvelous and legendary weapons. Here, next to the Narsil itself." Drizzt bowed to his two old blades and handed them over to Elrond who took them and hung them crossed in front of a mural of Drizzt and Gwenwhyvar slaying the Tarrasque of Faerun, Drizzt turned away, embarrassed by this depiction of him.

"There is something I must ask of you." Elrond said.

"Of course." Drizzt said and turned again to face him

"Aragorn is no longer safe here." Elrond warned. "You must go, and raise him in the wild."

"I will go." Drizzt said.

An elf of slightly shorter stature, with long black hair entered the hall. He wore all black, save for a bright cloak and he held a High Elven sword and carried on his back a full quiver of arrows. "This is my youngest son, Thalion Luva, he shall accompany you."

Thalion bowed, Drizzt returned the gesture.

"Do not let anyone know of Aragorn's identity. He shall be called Estel. Do not return here until his twentieth birthday, when he is of age. Until that time, he is not to know of his true heritage, only that he is a Ranger trained under your lessons."

Drizzt nodded. "Yes."

The three of them walked to the Houses of Healing. Aragorn stood next to Gilaen's bed, the little boy holding tightly onto her hand.

"Why are you still sleeping?" Aragorn asked.

"I was hurt." Gilaen said. "That's why you must go with Master Drizzt now."

"No!" Aragorn wailed. "Momma! I want to stay with you!"

"Aragorn." Gilaen said. "Listen to my words. There are those in the world that would seek to destroy you. We cannot let them know where you are, it is unsafe for you to stay by my side any longer."

"I'm not leaving!!" Aragorn said.

His mother took his hands in hers. "Now you listen to me." She said. "As you go into the world and one day face it as a man, may the wind be at your back and the sun upon your head! Embrace your life with arms wide open! May your feet be guided by the hand of your forefathers and never be mislead. Sprout your wings and fly!" Gilaen smiled at him and kissed him on the forehead. "Now, you must go, my dear son. Don't cry, I will see you again soon."

Aragorn wiped his eyes and nodded, he turned to Drizzt and took his hand. Drizzt nodded to Gilaen and the two of them moved to leave the House and set out on the road . Aragorn stopped and let go of Drizzt's hand and ran back to his mother, leaping into her arms. "Come with us!" Aragorn said. "Momma please!"

"I cannot." Gilaen said. "We have to keep your identity a secret, but one day I will see you again, I promise!" She smiled at her son, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Go with Drizzt, train in the wild, and return to me a man!"

Aragorn nodded, then returned to Drizzt and took his hand.

"We shall return." Drizzt said. "And your son shall be the strongest of men."

Drizzt bowed to Gilaen and she did the same to him.

Drizzt and Thalion threw their bags onto their horses, most of it was for Aragorn, they needed little to live on, being Elves.

"Listen to my words." Drizzt said to Aragorn. "From this day forth, until you come of age, you are no longer to be called Aragorn son of Arathorn. As my apprentice, you shall be called 'Estel.' The light of hope. As your master, I shall be called Dur Rana, the dark wanderer."

Thalion leaped onto Elphilin, his roan mare. Drizzt lifted Estel and placed him on Lainor, his palomino stallion.

"Move swiftly and leave no trail behind." Elrond said.

Drizzt nodded. "Farewell, my friend and thank you for so much which you have done."

"No, thank you Drizzt Do'Urden. There is still one good Dark Elf." Elrond smiled. "Thalion, take care of them, my son."

"Yes, father." Thalion said.

"Lim, Lainor." Drizzt said, whispering to his steed. Then the horses were off through the gates of Rivendell, down the long winding road of Imladris, beyond the setting sun, and out of Elrond's sight.

"May you raise him well. May at last be a king at the throne of Gondor. May at last will your dark people be freed from thier curse by your hand, Drizzt Do'Urden, descendant of Eol. That all of the free peoples of Middle Earth be free of Sauron and his dark shadow."

* * * * * * *

In Mordor, to the west of a only slightly burning Mount Doom was at the top of the evil tower of Barad Dur, wreathed in flame burned the Eye of Sauron. It did not look all about on this night, searching in vein for not the One Ring. Instead, it was fixed to the North, scouring for the small man-child that was now out of its sight. The boy who was Isildur's heir, Aragorn son of Arathorn.

The Mouth of Sauron sat below in the chamber of Barad Dur in a great throne. It's figure was tall and willowy, it's long gray hands curving out of a blackened and tattered cloak like burned branches of an old gnarled tree. Upon it's head was a great and spiked helm and below it was a ragged, bleeding, lipless mouth with sneering yellowed teeth as sharp and broken as the claws of some terrible and ragged beast. A single goblin, missing it's right limb, staggered up to The Mouth and bowed, the goblins nervous shaking limbs jingling in its armour.

"Ah!" Said The Mouth, blood spurting from its swollen oozing gums as it spoke. "What news do you have from the Trollshaws?"

"The widow of…of Arathorn passed through our lands….not two months ago…." The goblin whimpered.

The Mouth tilted its head sharply to one side, listening intently. "And his son?" It asked, leaning in toward the goblin.

"We…we were beaten, my lord. The son was not in their company"

"Ahhhh." Said The Mouth, leaning back and sighing deeply. "How is it that Durg could be bested by a handful of Rangers? Why is it he did not bring us this news himself?"

"Durg was slain, my liege." The goblin squeaked timidly.

"Slain?!" The Mouth hissed. "By these Rangers?!!"

"No, my eminence. There was another." The goblin whimpered. "An Elf with a dark countenance about him, unlike any I had ever seen before…please forgive our mistake!"

"Forgive?" The Mouth said and stood to its full seven foot height. The goblin cowered lower, whimpering even more.

"You let certain victory slip through our grasp! He was a single Elf!!" The Mouth said.

"Please! He was swift and terrifying! We thought he was an Orc! We thought he was an Orc!!" The goblin whined, The Mouth stepped down quickly and reached out, its long bony hands gripping the goblin by the throat and lifting it into the air by its head.

"His…his…eyes burned with purple flame…his skin black as the smoke of Mount Doom….his hair as white as the peaks of Caradhras…we didn't know! We didn't…aaaaawaahhhhh!!" The Mouth gave with its hands a sharp wringing twist and a sickly popping sound came, followed by an even more gruesome slurping noise as the goblin's head popped from his shoulders like a dandelion and his body fell to the stone floor.

"Bring forth the Witches!!!!!" The Mouth called.

In marched two old hags, their forms warped and bent over, their eyes plucked from their heads and veiled in gray rags.

"You called for us, greatness." The first hag whispered, her voice like the wind rattling through a dried, burned land.

"Called for us." The second hag mimicked, her voice like a cold howling wind in a long dark tunnel.

"You must move North to the Encircling Mountains of old. To the forgotten and dead city of Gondolin you will travel, search the deep chasms for the ancient bones of Maeglin, son of Eol. Bring the bones to me." The Mouth said.

"With pleasure my lord." The first hag said.

"Aye, with pleasure!" The second hag mimicked. They scuttled off and were gone for many months, they returned with a large, soiled and stinking bag on their back. They dumped the bag before The Mouth, it's contents spilling out. Out tumbled the broken and cracked, gleaming white bones of Maeglin himself, son of Eol, the most evil Elf to have ever lived. Among the bones were his dark hair, his now withered and rusted armour and all manner or rotten and disgusting things found among the long dead.

"We must begin!" The Mouth said. "Bring forth our fairest!!!" The Mouth roared.

Several Orc threw in Klogmok, a tall slender Orc with fair features. He had long black hair and many piercings.

"You called for me, my lord?" He asked. The mouth turned, then reached to a long spike next to his throne and launched it, piercing the slender Orc's stomach and launching him through the air, until he was pinned against the wall like some winged thing on display in a glass box. The Mouth tore the spear from his belly and Klogmok fell dead to the floor.

"Use this body." The Mouth said.

"Consider it done, o great one." The first hag rasped.

"Consider it done." The second croaked.

Day and night, the old hags worked, with Sauron's vile Mouth barking instruction. They cut poor Klogmok with stone and iron and stuffed him full with bone and blood and the innards of dead birds and the tongues of bloated toads and many other putrid vile things. Here and there they stitched the new flesh over the old bone, two and fro they pieced together ancient corpse with fresh kill, until the body was complete. The two hags carried the corpse and pitched it into Mount Doom, the body hurtling and tumbling, bouncing of the stone until it plished into the great fire. Then it was that Sauron's evil and horrid Necromancy was put it work. The fire sizzled and popped and hissed and a thing moved about inside the flaming pool like a figure climbing from a pond or other body of water. Then, out of the flame, walked a tall Elf with skin as dark as the smoke of Mount Doom and hair as white as the mountains of Caradhras. Maeglin, son of Eol, walked naked from the fires and stared at his black hands with his blood red eyes. A twisted smile broke across his fair face and he chuckled then howled with laughter.

He bent down and kissed the land. "I live!!! I yet live!!!!!" He howled again.

He moved up to the hags and they cloaked him in ragged, bleak linen and took him to Barad Dur.

"Ahhhh." The Mouth smiled widely. "Long have we waited for your return, Maeglin."

Maeglin lowered to one knee and bowed deeply to The Mouth.

"I am deeply indebted to Sauron for this gracious gift of life." He said. "How may I serve him?"

"There is another Dark Elf who now walks these lands." The Mouth said. "He has with him the future king of men. There are many by whom we can revive from the grips of death." The Mouth snickered. "Even she by which was promised to you."

"Idril…" Maeglin whispered.

"Go now, find the Dark Elf and Isildur's heir, kill them, and she will at long last be forever yours." The Mouth spat.

"Count it as already done." Maeglin said and he stood, leaving the tower.

The Orc dressed him in galvorn, a jet black metal that Maeglin's father, Eol had invented. The armor was stronger than mithril and malleable, impervious to injury from metal weapons.

The Dark Elf had with him an infantry of Orc, Goblins, and Trolls. Sixty of Sauron's dark servants traveled with him up and over the Ash Mountains and into the battle plain of Dagorlad. Throughout the Brown Lands they searched for their prey and Maeglin even journeyed to the lands of Gondor and Rohan, disguised as a wandering old man, in search for the drown and the boy. For many years they searched, scouring all of Middle Earth. But their prey ever eluded them.

At long last, Maeglin heard news of them along the road to the Ettenmoors. A dark wanderer, an elf and a little boy had made their home high to the North, in the ancient forests of the Blue Mountains.

The Infantry made their way to the North, moving quietly like shadows and off the main path. For none should ever make note of their position. Maeglin shined his twisted grin as they moved far to the East, even through the cursed lands of Agmar and high above, through the Ice Bay of Forochet and finally at last, West and into the Blue Mountains. It was here, in these cold granite giants, Maeglin, would find and destroy Arathorn's son and the Dark Elf that protected him. He would carry their heads with him, South beyond the land of Forlindon and down through Harlindon and Minhiraith, through even Rohan itself and finally at last back into the gates of Mordor. Sauron must know where Gondolin, the ancient city once stood, otherwise he would not have been able to locate and resurrect Maeglin's remains. The Dark Elf chuckled at this thought, for he would rebuild the city there, in the Encircling Mountains, even mightier than it once stood. He would create an army more powerful than the world has ever seen, with Idril at his side and all of Middle Earth would quake and stoop before his awesome and terrible power. This gave Maeglin great speed and he hid in watch high up in the Blue Mountains, staring down at the campfire lit in the forest below. He knew without question, that he at last perched ready before his prey.


	5. Part 2: Master, Apprentice

**Child Of Faerun**

**Part 2: Master, Apprentice**

"Fear is both anti-life and anti-non life. In terms of this world, Manwe Sulimo, Lord of the Valar is life and Morgoth the Lord of Darkness, represents fear. 'Manwe' and 'Morgoth' are not antonyms. Nor are life and fear antonyms, in a sense 'Morgoth' is one of the definitions of 'Manwe'; 'fear' is one of the definitions of 'life.' As free people of this Middle Earth, one of our greatest impediments in life is our trust in antonyms.

Life and Death are equal, and therefore are indistinguishable from each other. In truth, it is impossible to tell at any given moment if we are alive or dead. Think of it: who would tell us? Fear manifests itself in many forms. The most common manifestation is anger. Whenever we are angry, we are angry because we are afraid. It is impossible to be angry except to be angry out of fearfulness. For example, if one recalls the last time they were angry, traces it back to the source, the reason will always stem from fear. The source cannot be anything other than fear. Once again, whenever we are angry, we are angry because we are afraid.

Therefore it is as follows, to conquer one's anger, a person must conquer the fear at the source of the anger. For if you fail to conquer the fear, the anger will continue to manifest. Some other manifestations of fear: impatience, frustration, cruelty, self-hatred, jealousy, envy, prejudice, tiredness. Fear is present within us by two forms: the fear of specifics and the fear which always lives within. The fear of specifics is the fear of 'the other.' 'The other' is an example held up to you, the attributes of which you perceive (correctly or incorrectly) in specific people. Your subconscious admiration of a trait (which you believe you don't possess) causes your fear of a specific person you believe possesses that trait, and who you believe you cannot assimilate through love, friendship or acquaintanceship. Alternatively, your fear of 'the other' is your perception of another as corrupted, meaning someone who does not appear to possess the attributes of the example held up to you. The key seems to be assimilation or avoidance, but it isn't.

The key is acceptance.

The fear that always lives within you is the fear that you are inadequate.

The truth: you are inadequate. The truth: you will always be inadequate. The truth once more: it is not wrong to be inadequate. The truth but again: it is impossible to not be inadequate. Life is not a struggle to conquer inadequacy. Life is a struggle to conquer fear. Fear can only be conquered when you are about to fail, or do fail. Only when you are about to fail or do fail do you confront fear, and only then are you therefore offered an opportunity to succeed. It is impossible to succeed when you are a success. You can only succeed when you are about to be a failure, or are a failure. Success offers few opportunities; failure showers you, dazzles you, with them. When we are afraid, we experience a false sense of helplessness. We are never helpless. Fear is the decision to relinquish our powers. The relinquishment is always a conscious act, although so quick we may miss it, consciously, especially if we are used to preferring to be we prefer to be afraid, it is always because we wish not to be responsible for our actions. If we are in that mode, its source is always hatred of the world. 'Hatred of the world' means 'self-hatred', because each of us owns our own world. Often do we hate ourselves/our world, because we have not diminished our parents, in our mind, to the mere people they are. We love fear in art, in the courtyard or around the hearth because it externalizes what is too long internalized. It is like a great release of a bowstring. We find relief when we hear, see or tell others of fears experienced, because fear is something we do not wish to confront alone. It is something we often feel that we cannot control.

You completely control your own life, because you do not need to control what happens to you in your life; you only need to control how you _respond_ to what happens to you in your life.

The opposite of the word 'fear' is the word 'cooperation'. The opposite of fear is awareness of oneness.

Oneness is most present in times when we feel pure, honest, unyielding love. These are moments when we reach beyond our daily affairs, hopes and concerns and unite with the very fabric of life. We may be enjoying a spectacular sunrise and our awareness expands and merges into the colors of the sky itself. Or perhaps while quietly humming a sweet melody, we begin vibrating in complete harmony with our own being. Gazing into the eyes of another we witness eternity. These are the instances where we connect and remember the grandness of life and realize our deepest truth. We go past the physical form and touch the precious love that orchestrates universes, ignites our imagination and breathes life into our hearts. We become one with all that is, inadequacy is something we then grow to accept, even welcome, failure is something we then grow to accept, through this we conquer fear.

The rest of our lives are often defined by routines, ingrained habits, known pathways and traditions breaking from them can often fill our hearts with fear, and with it bring all of the short comings and self destruction mentioned previously. Even though we intuitively understand that there is more, our focus tends to remain on our external reality since it is the most familiar to us. Occasionally we consciously reconnect with our inner awareness and often only because circumstances align to capture our attention either through a dramatic experience, such as the possibility and acceptance of failure or a sublime encounter, such as experiencing pure, honest, unyielding love. We need not wait for such sporadic challenges or opportunities to stimulate and expand our consciousness. We can cultivate and sustain our connection to the totality of life by simply embracing our innate magnificence and maintaining a rhythmic heart-centered awareness. Allowing our love to flow naturally and unimpeded, we begin to experience the world from a unified perspective where love is always present. The more we do this, the easier it becomes. This is unconditional love in action and it is what brings true meaning to our existence.  
The steps we take and the choices we make are up to us. We can continue to live in response to outer situations and conditions based on the narrow definitions and limitations we assembled from the past, or we can release our unlimited potential and express from our greatest vantage point by letting love be our guiding intention. Either way, the oneness of love is forever and in all aspects of life. As long as this is carried in all of our dealings, surely, we will not run from the possibility of failure, we will not dismay over the fact that we are inadequate, we will always however, regardless of the circumstance, conquer fear."

-Drizzt Do'Urden


	6. Chapter 4: Fatal Flaws

**Chapter Four: Fatal Flaws**

The Autumn mist lifted from the Blue Mountains, smoke rose from a small hut, fashioned from boulders and thatched with straw. From inside the hut, Drizzt Do'Urden shook twelve year old Estel, who was fast asleep in a crudely fashioned wooden bed.

"Wake up." The drow said calmly. "The sun rises and we have much to do this day."

"Five more minutes…" Estel said, turning over in his bed, pulling the pillow up and over his head. Five minutes later, Drizzt returned. "Estel." He said. "It's time to awaken."

The boy did not move, save for a small mumble.

"Come on." Drizzt said. "Get up."

"Leave me alone!" Estel yelled and turned over in his bed. The drow yanked off the covers and snatched the pillow from atop the young boy's head. "You asked for five more minutes and I granted that. Now arise." The Dark Elf shook Esyel's shoulder.

"Stop telling me what to do!" The boy shrieked and swatted at Drizzt's hand to knock it away. The drow grabbed the boy's hand and lifted him out of the bed.

"It is time to get up." He said.

"Fine!" Estel huffed and grabbed his tunic from the floor, pulling it down over his head. He smoothed his tousled dark brown hair, pulled on his boots and stomped out the front door, slamming it in Drizzt's face. The drow stopped in front of the door and closed his eyes, letting out a long sigh.

"You are trying much too hard." Thalion said as he plopped some peeled potatoes into the pot that was boiling on the hearth in the cottage.

"His attitude leaves much to be desired of late. I do not understand." Drizzt said.

"He is a human boy, nearing his thirteenth year." Thalion said. "He is reaching adulthood these random changes in temperament are to be expected."

"Perhaps I have failed somehow in raising him these ten years." Drizzt said.

"You ponder far too often and far too deeply, Drizzt Do'Urden." Thalion stated simply.

"It is not a matter in which you need to be concerned, Thalion Luva." Drizzt said darkly and walked out of the cottage and into the glade. Thalion shook his head and continued preparing breakfast. Out in the glade, Estel stood with his hands crossed in front of him, glowering at the Dark Elf as he stepped out into the morning light. Drizzt picked up two sticks and tossed one at Estel, Estel moved to the side, letting the stick tumble passed him.

"Pick it up, we must train." Drizzt said.

"No." Estel responded. "I have no wish to practice in swordsmanship today."

"Why not?" Drizzt asked.

"I also do not wish to talk about it." The human said, turning his nose in the air.

Drizzt walked over to the boy and pointed at the stick on the ground with the one in his hand. "Pick it up, now." He said.

"You cannot tell me what to do." Estel said.

Thwack! Drizzt hit the boy on the hand with the tip of his stick.

"Ow!" Estel said, pulling his arm in sharply to his chest and nursing the bruised fingers with his other hand.

"Pick up your sword! I am your enemy! I will not wait for you!!" The drow barked.

"I do not have to!" The young boy shouted back.

Thwack! Krrrak! Whump! Drizzt whirled the stick around, hitting Estel in the hip, the shoulder and finally behind the knees. The boy flipped over and fell on his bottom. Thalion came out of the stone hut after hearing Drizzt barking orders.

"Stand up!" The drow yelled, inches from Estel's face.

"Stop it!" The boy yelled back.

"On your feet!" Drizzt said, grabbing the child by the collar of his tunic and easily lifting him. "Your sword! Grab it! Quickly!" Drizzt said. Estel stumbled back and picked up the stick, Drizzt came in low first, then high, Estel blocked them booth, then up shoot Drizzt's foot, hitting the child square in the chest.

"Ooofff!" The boy said, the wind knocked from him.

"Enough!" Thalion said, running to them.

"The enemy will use anything to win!" Drizzt said, raising his stick high. The Moriquendi caught it in his hand, stopping the drow from swinging it down upon the boy.

"Enough I say!" Thalion roared, the blade of his curved sword resting against Drizzt's dark throat. Estel looked up at the two elves, tears filling his eyes.

"I HATE YOU!!" He yelled at the Dark Elf and stood and ran, sobbing, out of the glade and into the forest at the feet of the mountains. Drizzt stared after the little boy, dropping his stick and collapsing to the earth.

"What have I done?" He said, staring after the boy in disbelief. Thalion ran after the future king, leaving Drizzt alone to ponder his mistake. All this time, in all of his years on the surface, Drizzt had thought himself a good and kindly being, striving in all of his dealings to be the very best and taking the best possible course of action at all times. Had he made a mistake somewhere along the way? Had he missed something important? In this he could not be for certain. Thalion found Estel partly up a nearby pass, staring blankly at the crumbled head of a statue of an old and forgotten Numenorian king.

"These statues litter the land." The boy said. "These decaying memoirs of the old kingdoms of Men."

"They are reminders." Thalion said. "Of all that you can be gained and all that can be lost." Thalion looked Estel over, checking him for injury. "Are you hurt?" He asked. The boy shook his head. "No, I'm alright." He said. "He held back…but, he just…pushes me so far."

"He is only trying to do that which is best for you." The Elf said, his blue eyes gleaming at the human. "I know. But sometimes…" The little boy reached out with his hand, feeling over the crumbling features of the forgotten king. "Sometimes I just want to run and laugh, without worry of how powerful my downswing is or how true my arrow flies. I love these mountains and its streams and caves. I love its many animals and its secrets."

"Ah." Said Thalion chuckling. "You just want to play once in awhile, is that it?"

Estel nodded. "But he won't let me."

"Drizzt loves you." The son of Elrond said, patting the boy on the shoulder. "He loves you as his own son, more than anyone or anything on this green earth." Thalion walked to a sprinkling of flowers and lucked one, then moved to the stone head and dropped it, the blossom floating softly, until it rested on the ancient king's forehead.

"He wants to make certain that you are strong and forthright, that you do not crumble under the pressure and strain of your life." Thalion turned to the boy. "Now, let us return and see him." Estel smiled and nodded at the elf. "Alright." He said.

Drizzt stood and walked slowly back to the cottage where he gathered up his scimitars and his cloak, then he set off to the south, alone again.

'I am incapable of this.' Drizzt thought. 'My raising him is flawed.' The drow journeyed onward, unaware of the great evil that had been watching him, Thalion and Estel over the past weeks. Hiding in the shadows, waiting for the exact time to strike, and the time now was perfect.

Thalion and Estel returned to the stone shack. "Drizzt?" Estel called. "I'm sorry. I didn't meant to get upset! Hello?" The little boy looked all around in the cottage, outside in the barnyard, through the vegetable garden, in the orchard and the glade. "I don't hate you!" He called. "Please, come out!" The boy ran to Thalion, who also had been searching for the drow. "I can't find him!" He said.

The Elf closed his eyes, saddened. "He has gone." He said.

"Gone?" The boy asked, the tears returning. "Why? For how long?"

"He gave up." Thalion said quietly.

The little boy cried, leaning in and hiding his head tightly against the Elf's crimson cloak. Thalion sighed and held Estel in his arms. "I'm sorry." He said.

* * * * * * *

Drizzt moved slowly down the road of Forlindon, beyond the Blue Mountains and across the River of Lhun. He wore his cowl low over his face and spoke to no one as he walked endlessly down the road, with no destination and no purpose.

'What is wrong with me?' He asked himself over and over again.

'_Everything_.' His scimitars responded. _'Your hall rests atop a broken foundation.'_

But what did that mean? Ahead, Drizzt saw an old man moving toward him in dark robes, with a mule stubbornly being drawn behind him.

"Gandalf." Drizzt said. Just whom he wished to see, he knew with all that was going on, Gandalf the Grey would have the answers. Drizzt picked up his feet and ran to the wizard who had his back turned to him.

"Come on, you stupid old goat!" The old wizard muttered.

"Gandalf!" Drizzt called again excitedly.

"Gandalf?" The old wizard said, turning around. He wore dark brown robes and had a long bushy black beard and hair so thick that all you could see poking from them was a huge bent nose and two tiny green eyes.

"No, I am not Gandalf." The old man said. "I am Lomion, Son of the Twilight and I've come to help you, Drizzt Do'Urden."

"Well met, Lomion." Drizzt bowed. Then, the drow noticed an odd thing. Blood dripped down from the mules mouth and slobbered on the dirt path. He looked up at its eyes and saw that they were white and lifeless. The drow drew his scimitars, but Lomion was faster and was against the drow in the time of a lightning strike, a dark and rusted blade plunged deep into the dark Ranger's liver. Drizzt groaned, his black blood coughing up from his mouth.

"Long have I hunted you." Lomion said. "Yearned for this day." The brown wizard whispered, his old features melting and his cloaking dripping away like hot wax. They formed into a drow and Drizzt stared at him helplessly and disbelief.

"And now, you die." Maeglin hissed and pulled the weathered blade from Drizzt's belly, spraying his black blood in dripping half circles across the road.

"The boy's death will not be so sudden, know that as you fade here." Maeglin laughed as the drow Ranger fell to his knees, his life fading from him. A host of goblins exploded from the mule's belly like worms from a rotten fruit and the evil drow and his infantry marched onward, to Thalion and the king of men, to certain dismal victory. Drizzt collapsed onto his back.

'I am dying.' He thought. 'Countless times before have I been upon death's threshold…soon, I will again be with you…Catti-Brie…' Drizzt closed his eyes, letting out a long breath.

"So that is it then. It is finished?" Gandalf's wise low voice filled Drizzt's ears. Then he saw him in his mind, staring at him with sadness and disappointment and he also saw Thalion and Estel riding swiftly from a host of Orc, Trolls and Goblins, with that evil drow leading the charge. They launched their javelins, piercing Thalion's mount and slaying the Elf, then they were upon the little boy and…Drizzt's eyes shot open.

"No!" He said. "I cannot fall! Not yet!" And he tried to stand, but his strength had left him, he tried crawling but only moved a few excruciating feet, the hole in his side burning him, sending his whole body into horrible reeling pain. His heart filled with fear and panic and beat rapidly. 'I cannot die!' He thought and reached out, toward the blue Mountains that stretched like a floating grey bar on the distant horizon. Then all went black, and he knew the world no more.

* * * * * *


End file.
